The Man Downstairs Knew How to Wait

This happened three years ago, and I still think about it more than I should.

My name is Valeria. I was twenty-nine when it happened, I worked sewing clothes piecework from home, and I had been living with Rodrigo, my boyfriend at the time, for three years. We were the kind of couple that settles into a routine without questioning anything: he worked for an insurance company, I stayed home, and life went by quietly and without surprises. It wasn’t a bad life. It was just that: quiet. In bed it was the same: two minutes of groping, him on top, two more minutes and sleep. It had been months since I’d come with him, and I didn’t even bother pretending anymore.

When we moved to the new country, the one who made it possible was Rodrigo’s uncle. Aurelio. Fifty-five years old, truck mechanic, owner of his own workshop two kilometers from the house. A straightforward man, man of few words, who gave us the upstairs apartment while we got settled. We lived on the second floor; he lived on the first.

Aurelio was tall, at least six foot three, dark-haired, with a thick beard that gave him a rough, severe look. He wasn’t the kind of man you’d imagine having bad intentions. He didn’t talk too much, didn’t ask too much. He offered us coffee, asked how we were doing, and went about his business. Rodrigo was fond of him; I saw him as an authority figure, someone to respect and not bother.

But there are people who look at you in a way you can notice even when you don’t want to.

***

The Sunday it all started, Rodrigo had gone out early. I had set myself up on the terrace with the sewing machine and a pile of delayed garments. I’d been working for hours when I heard footsteps on the stairs and the door leading to the terrace opened.

It was Aurelio.

—I didn’t know you were here —he said, stopping in the doorway.

—I got up early. Rodrigo’s working today.

He nodded without moving. He looked at me a second longer than necessary before saying:

—Want me to bring you coffee?

—Sure, thanks.

He came back with two cups and sat in the chair across from me. We talked about unimportant things: the economy, the neighborhood, my family. It was easy to talk to him when I wasn’t thinking of him as my boyfriend’s uncle but simply as a man sitting in the sun with a cup in his hand.

Then he asked me if I knew anything about computers.

—I need to file some documents for a bank loan —he explained—. I’m not really sure how to do it.

—I can help you when I’m done here.

—No rush.

I finished hemming a dress and stood up. I was wearing tight leggings and a short blouse, the clothes I wore when I was home alone. I hadn’t really noticed what I had on until I had to go downstairs to his place.

His room was a little messy, as men’s rooms who live alone usually are: folded clothes on top of the chair, tools on a table in the back, a big bed against the wall. I sat down in front of the computer and crossed my legs. He pulled up a chair and sat beside me.

While I entered his information, he said his age out loud, as if he had just remembered it.

—Fifty-five. I’m already old.

—Doesn’t look like it —I replied without thinking.

He smiled. A short smile, unhurried. He didn’t say anything else.

I finished in twenty minutes, explained what I had done, and got up to leave. When I stepped into the hallway I felt his eyes on my back. I didn’t turn around.

***

After that day, something changed between us, even though neither of us named it.

Aurelio started greeting me differently. If anyone else was around, he was the same as always: a nod, a routine “good morning.” But when we were alone, he came closer, gave me a kiss on the cheek that lasted a second longer than normal, and left without saying anything.

One afternoon, when Rodrigo had gone down to the car to get something, Aurelio greeted me in the hallway and instead of my cheek he kissed me on the mouth. It was quick, soft, almost like some kind of miscalculation. He apologized immediately and disappeared downstairs before I could react.

I stood still in the hallway, my hand against the wall, and felt my nipples tighten under my blouse.

What just happened?

I didn’t tell Rodrigo.

***

One Saturday night we went downstairs together to buy burgers and found Aurelio in the patio drinking beer with a woman. Dark-haired, very pretty, with an easy laugh. We said hello and kept going. Rodrigo made some joke about his uncle and took my hand.

That night, close to two in the morning, I woke up to noises downstairs. I went down to get some water and, as I passed by Aurelio’s room door, I heard a woman’s voice clearly.

—Like that, like that... don’t stop... deeper, daddy, deeper...

I stayed pressed to the hallway wall listening. I could hear the bed hitting the wall with a dry thud, a steady rhythm, unhurried. The woman moaned like something was being ripped out of her from deep inside. Then came his low groan, long, and her cut-off curses, begging him not to pull out, to come inside. I could feel the fabric of my pajama leggings stick between my legs. I went back upstairs without the water, climbed into bed next to Rodrigo, who was snoring, and touched myself in silence until I came, biting the pillow.

In the morning, when I went out to the terrace with the sewing machine, Aurelio opened the door shortly after and peeked out. He was wearing only the towel wrapped around his waist. He told me he didn’t know I was there and that he was going to make coffee. We talked for a moment. I looked at the sewing machine screen, but out of the corner of my eye I could see the fabric clinging to his body. When he bent to reach his cup, the towel tightened and I noticed there was something substantial underneath. A long, thick bulge hanging heavy against his thigh.

That must be normal. Don’t look at it.

Before going in, he told me he wanted to ask for my phone number. For anything he might need, you never knew. I gave it to him without thinking too much about it.

Then I saw him from the terrace window walking toward the patio. At one point the towel loosened, he picked it up from the floor calmly and kept walking a few steps before wrapping it around himself again. Only half sideways, but enough. I saw his cock in full: thick, dark, with a heavy head and marked veins, hanging half-hard between his legs. My mouth went dry.

That son of a bitch knows exactly what he’s doing.

***

That same afternoon he texted my cell.

I was halfway through cleaning the apartment: I had on short leggings, a thin little blouse with no bra, and strappy sandals. I didn’t have anything better handy, so I went down like that.

He was in the kitchen when I came in. He smelled like the workshop, like oil and something mixed with clean. He was wearing his work overalls. He served coffee, we sat down, and for a moment it seemed like it would be the same as the last time: me helping with the computer and him nodding along without fully understanding.

Then he said:

—I wanted to talk about that afternoon.

—Which one? —I asked, even though I knew perfectly well which one.

—The kiss in the hallway. It slipped out. I felt embarrassed.

—It doesn’t matter, Aurelio. Let’s forget about it.

—It does matter to me. —He paused—. The truth is, you’ve been on my mind for a while. I don’t know what happens to me when you’re close.

I looked at him. He was looking at me, and at that moment I noticed he wasn’t uncomfortable or ashamed. He was someone who had decided to say something and was saying it without beating around the bush.

—That must be the confusion of living in the same space —I answered, trying to keep my tone casual—. We cross paths a lot.

—It’s not confusion. It’s that I get hard thinking about you.

There was a silence. He moved a little closer in the chair. I kept looking at the screen.

—I hear you when you’re upstairs with Rodrigo, you know? —he said, lower—. I hear the bed moving for two minutes and then nothing. He fucks you and doesn’t make a sound. Not a moan. And he doesn’t hear you, but I do. I know you’re left wanting.

I didn’t answer. Those words hit me in a way I hadn’t expected, because they were true and I knew it, and I had never said it out loud.

Then I felt his hand on my knee.

It was a big working hand, with slightly rough knuckles. He didn’t squeeze. He just left it there.

—Let go —I told him.

—I just want to talk.

But he wasn’t talking anymore. He had come closer and was running his lips over my neck, very slowly, without any hurry. His beard scratched lightly. He touched a spot I hadn’t known I had until that moment and I let out a sharp breath.

Stop. Stop right now.

But I didn’t stop.

His hand started moving up my thigh. I stopped it with mine. He took my hand gently, moved it aside, and kept going.

—Easy —he said softly—. Relax.

I closed my eyes. The beard on my neck, his voice near my ear, the hand that came between my legs and pressed over the fabric. Thick fingers rubbed over my leggings, pressing right where my clit was, and a gasp slipped out of me. He found the edge of the leggings and slipped his hand inside. No panties. He gave a low laugh when he discovered it.

—Look at you —he murmured—. You came down with nothing on.

—I didn’t notice.

—You did notice.

His fingers slid between the lips of my cunt and found the wetness without even searching. One went in, then two, moving slowly, pulling out soaked and going back in. With his thumb he rubbed my clit in slow circles. My knees loosened against the chair.

—You’re dripping —he said simply—. All of this is for me, Valeria.

—It’s the heat —I answered, my voice broken.

He laughed very softly and pushed his fingers deeper, curling them upward, and ripped a moan out of me that I couldn’t swallow. With his other hand he lifted my blouse, bent down, and sucked one nipple into his mouth, tugging with his teeth and his tongue at the same time. I grabbed his head without realizing it and pressed him against my chest.

—Get off the stool —he ordered me.

I obeyed.

He took me to his bed with little resistance from me. I sat on the edge. He knelt in front of me, pulled my leggings down over my ankles, and paused a moment looking at my open cunt before bending down.

—What a delicious cunt you’ve got —he murmured—. Pink, tiny, all wet for me.

He spread my legs with both hands, put them over his shoulders, and pressed his mouth down there. When he ran his tongue over me from bottom to top, long and slow, I closed my eyes and clutched the sheets with both hands. His beard scraped the insides of my thighs and burned, but not from pain. He sucked my lips, nibbled at them carefully, and every two or three strokes he stopped at my clit and licked it in circles, then with the tip, then caught it between his lips and sucked.

He was patient. He was in no hurry. He knew exactly where and how, and he did it with a calmness Rodrigo had never had. I pushed his head once, without thinking, and he answered with more pressure, more time. He slid in two fingers and kept sucking my clit at the same time, moving his fingers inside with a slow rhythm that lifted my back off the bed.

—Oh, God... —I let out—. Don’t stop, don’t stop...

—I won’t stop, my love. Come on my mouth.

I moved my hips against his face, shameless now, pushing my cunt against his tongue, and when he sped up the sucking on my clit I came with a cry I muffled by biting the back of my hand. My whole body shook over the bed, my legs clamping around his head, and he kept sucking until the last tremor, drinking down everything I gave him.

I shouldn’t be doing this.

But I was doing it.

When he stood up, his face was shining with me, his beard wet, and he licked his lips without taking his eyes off me. He unzipped the overalls, shrugged them off his shoulders, and let them fall to his ankles. Underneath he was wearing only a sleeveless shirt and nothing else. His cock sprang free and I caught my breath.

It was hard, thick, much longer than Rodrigo’s, with a swollen purple head and a thick vein running underneath. He had two heavy balls hanging down. I stared at it without being able to hide it, mouth slightly open.

—No —I said—. That isn’t going to fit.

—It will —he replied, with the same calm as before—. Come here. Suck it first so you get used to the size.

I slid from the bed to the floor, kneeling in front of him, and took it in my hand. It was heavy. My fingers couldn’t close all the way around it. I ran my tongue over the head, tasting it, salty and clean, and he gave a low groan. I opened my mouth and took the tip all the way in, then a little more, sucking slowly.

—Like that, like that... deeper —he told me, grabbing my hair—. Keep your tongue under it.

I did as he said. He kept pushing it into me until it touched the back of my throat and I had to pull it out to breathe, a string of spit hanging from my lip. I put it back in, more slowly, and stroked his balls with my free hand. He guided my head with both hands, setting the rhythm, fucking my mouth with short thrusts.

—You suck cock so well, slut. Rodrigo didn’t teach you this.

I took it out, panting, my hand pumping it.

—Shut up.

—No. Say it. Say he doesn’t fuck you like this.

—He doesn’t fuck me like this.

—Good. Now get on the bed.

He pulled me by the arm and laid me back on the bed. He climbed on top of me with his knees between mine, forcing them open, and took his cock in his hand to rub the head against my cunt lips, up and down, soaking it in my wetness.

—Aurelio, seriously... slower...

—I’m going slow, my love. Take it.

He pushed. The head went in all at once and a moan slipped out of me. He stayed there a moment, looking at my face, and then kept pushing, millimeter by millimeter, opening me up. I shut my eyes tight and bit my lip. It hurt, but not in the bad way. It was a pressure that filled everything and left me breathless for a second. I held onto his arms, digging my nails in. He didn’t move until I allowed him to with my body, a small, involuntary release. He finally pushed all the way in until I felt his balls against my ass, and there he stopped.

—All of it? —I asked without opening my eyes.

—All of it. All the way in.

He started moving. Long withdrawals, almost to the tip, and back to the bottom, without rushing, letting me feel every inch. The bed began to creak softly. I stopped thinking about Rodrigo, about the apartment upstairs, about what all of this meant.

I only felt.

—Look at me —he said—. Open your eyes and look at me while I fuck you.

I opened them. He was on top of me, jaw clenched, arms on either side of my head, fucking me with fierce calm. He held my gaze as he went in and out, and I couldn’t look away.

—Do you like it? —he asked.

—Yes.

—Say it all.

—I like the way you fuck me.

—Better than him?

—Better.

He smiled and sped up. Now the thrusts were harder, the wet sound filled the room, and the bed springs squeaked with every blow. He grabbed one leg, bent it against my chest, and sank deeper from that angle. I cried out, muffled, and covered my mouth with my hand. He moved it away.

—No. I want to hear you. Rodrigo isn’t here.

—The neighbors will hear us...

—Let them hear.

He kept fucking me, harder and harder, and I couldn’t keep my mouth shut anymore. Moans slipped out, insults, things I hadn’t said in years. He put me face down, lifted my hips with both hands, and shoved it into me from behind in one stroke. I screamed into the pillow. He started fucking me like that, holding me by the waist, with hard thrusts that made my headboard bang.

—Give me your ass —he said, grabbing one cheek and spreading it open—. All of it, Valeria. You’re mine this afternoon.

—Yes... yes, daddy... whatever you want... —I no longer controlled what I was saying.

He ran his thumb, wet with spit, over my asshole and pressed just a little, not going in, and just that made me come again, screaming into the pillow, clenching his cock from the inside in spasms I couldn’t stop. He groaned, kept driving into my contractions, and after a few more strokes I felt him go rigid.

—I’m about to come —he panted—. Inside?

—Outside, outside...

He pulled out just in time, and I felt my back and ass bathed in hot streams, one after another, as he let out a deep roar and emptied himself across my buttocks and lower back. There were many of them, and thick. He let me fall face down, trembling, with my legs still spread and his semen running down my sides.

He stayed still for a moment and then moved away. I got up as soon as I could, grabbed my clothes with clumsy fingers, and put them on any which way, pressing them against my stained skin. He lay back on the bed, his cock still shiny and half-soft, and took me by the waist from behind.

—Stay a while. I’ll fuck you again.

—I can’t.

I went upstairs barefoot, closed the apartment door, and went straight to the bathroom. I stayed under the hot water for a good while, with the smell of workshop oil, of him, and of semen still mixed into my skin. I washed inside with my hand and felt that I was still dripping his. Between my legs it burned in a new, good way, and I had the red marks of his beard on my neck and thighs.

What did I do?

There was no easy answer to that. Only the hot water, and the silence of the upstairs apartment, and Aurelio’s footsteps moving calmly downstairs.

That was the first time. Only the first.